


The Alchemist of Lutèce

by MinervaDeuteronomy



Category: Original Work
Genre: 18th Century-esq, Alternate History, Gen, Kinda, M/M, Magic, Multi, Mystery, Worldbuilding, not really - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:02:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29252664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinervaDeuteronomy/pseuds/MinervaDeuteronomy
Summary: Specter de Riddle thinks that his biggest problem is that nobody knows he exists, a rather tough thing for the young nobleman who wants an entry into the high society of Lutèce, the capital of Elyance, and the capital of culture. However his friendship with the Ministerin of Magic, a passionate and powerful woman named Cendrillon, will lead to events he couldn't have predicted.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 4





	1. The Ardent Ministerin

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little passion project I've been writing, rewriting, drafting, and creating over the past 5 or so years, and I finally feel comfortable posting parts of it, I hope you enjoy!

There are three things you need to know about Specter de Riddle.  
1\. He is very pretty and charming, and is quite aware of this.  
2\. He is often mistaken for his father or grandfather.  
3\. Nobody was aware of his existence.

Number 3 wasn't his fault, he didn't have control over the circumstances of his birth, and yet here he was. The heir to a Marquis, and son of a decorated Admiral of the Elysian Navy, and no one knew who he was.

Waiting in the private study of the Ministerin's home, Specter looked around at his surroundings. The study was well furnished, with several chairs and large work desk in front of a window, where the warm light of fading summer poured in. On that desk many papers, some official looking, as others where small with notes or paragraphs in a distinct handwriting, and inkwells, candles, sticks of wax, and stamps all lay neatly on the desk. Bookshelves lined the walls, with encyclopedias, textbooks on science, magic, and history, collections of journals, and essays, and classical literature. Curiosities and contraptions, presumably enchanted, sat between the volumes, display cases with various glass vials containing liquids and gases, or crystals and gemstones, which sparkled with a faint reddish, orange glow, regardless of the actual coloring of the stones.

Clicking his nails against the suitcase he held, Specter heard footsteps before the door opened as Cendrillon Aldritch.

"I am terribly sorry Monsieur Riddle, it was rude of me to leave and not greet you when you arrived-" She stopped when she caught a look of Specter's face, with an expression that Specter could read.

"Specter. Specter de Riddle." He extended his hand. "I believe you've mistaken me as my father. Or grandfather." He quickly added. 

Cendrillon laughed. "Oh please forgive me, M. Riddle, when I heard that you had arrived I thought that your where your the Marquis. I presume that you brought the manuscripts?"

Specter placed the suitcase on the desk and opened it for Cendrillon to see. Inside were several books and manuscripts, some dating back 300 years, untouched by time from the library of the Riddle's Estate in the country.

Cendrillon stared at them for some time, analyzing them and looking at them with a burning curiosity. 

"Thank you M. Riddle. I will transcribe and translate these, and return these to our family after I make copy."

"Now is there anything I can do for you? Are you staying in Lutèce for long?" Cendrillon asked. "Do you have adequate lodgings?"

"I have rented an apartment with an young Atlesian noble traveling covertly, I will be staying in Lutèce through the winter season, and possibly longer."

"Splendid, well then M. Riddle, it was lovely meeting you, and unfortunately I have some other meetings to have today, perhaps we shall chance upon each other another day."

"The pleasure was mine, Ministerin Aldritch."

In their shared apartment, skillfully piano playing could be heard. Sebastian Lovelace had been practicing for several hours now, and Specter admired his dedication and skill, Sebastian was a master on the keys.

Specter liked Sebastian

Sebastian did not like Specter  
Or did  
Sebastian was on the fence about Specter

"Good Evening Sebastian! I'm back!"

"Unfortunately"

"What are your plans tonight?"

Sebastian sighed, pausing mid-tune.

"I'm going to dinner with my sister and the ambassador."

"That's great Sebastian! I hope you have a lovely night."

Specter closed the door to his personal room, sighing as the tune resumed. He hoped that he didn't irritate Sebastian to much.

Light from the setting sun beamed into Specter's personal living quarters, reacting the pleasant bluish green of the wallpaper across it. Specter had retrieved some candles he played a blank piece of paper on the wooden desk, his pens and quills ready nearby, with a well of ink and a ceramic basin of water. His journal lay on the side, open so that the ink would dry, a habit he picked up from his grandfather during his time in the academy.

After placing the paper down he covered the well, washing the ink off his hand in the basin, and grabbed his jacket before heading off to satiate his hunger.

Sebastian had already left, so Specter went out into the dusk of the city, and found a supper of summer foods: breads, salads and fruits, and fresh meats, with a glass of Elysian wine, the sweeter kind from the south.

By the time he had returned the liquid crescent had risen in the sky. The dim moonlight was insufficient to Specters needs, so he lit his fresh candles for the first time since he had arrived in the city, he began to write a letter home.

Cendrillon spent the night pouring over the manuscripts, satisfying her growing and burning curiosity. On the page was a symbol, a glyph with multiple alchemical symbols around it, and her translation of the text on a loose piece of paper. The page was lit by the glow of a small white pearl-like stone, laying on a purple velvet cloth, which Cendrillon occasionally darted her eyes to with concern and fear as it quietly whispered.


	2. The Man of Science and His Fae Companion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Azazel Bennett, a researcher at the Oriel Maeginoscium, receives a letter from an friend.

Azazel didn't believe in angels, which was frankly a shame because Azazel was probably the only researcher stubborn enough to answer the question “How many angels can dance on the head of a pin.”

Pantomime thought that the proposition was silly, as pins don't have heads, and anybody who said that they did must have lost theirs. 

Sticking a lumigram of himself and his colleagues with a pin into the board set against his office wall, Azazel Bennet stepped back and admired his… conspiracy board… thing.

It would be charitable to call it handiwork.

“Don’t these usually have yarn?” Pantomime innocently asked.

“I just can’t find it, I know Doctor Boreal brought it in, but I somehow misplaced it.” Azazel scratched his head in confusion.

Pantomime looked from their vantage point, down on the ground, at the ball of light blue yarn that they had rolled under a cabinet.

They were very upset when they couldn't reach it.

“What a shame.” Pantomime innocently commented.

Azazel sighed. The graphic would still make sense to students, even if the yarn that would have connected all his points was missing.

“Help me out Pan, do you understand this?”

The cat jumped up onto a stool next to the Corkian’s side.

“Ok so this is Lord Azazel's Axiom: dust bunnies are in fact directly related to chickens.” Pantomime said proudly.

Azazel’s confused stare delighted Pantomime.

“What?”

“Ok so that’s a collage of animals, and those weird squiggly sketches are dust bunnies, and you are trying to argue that dust bunnies are in fact directly related to chickens.”

“You… no… Pan… there's not even chickens in the lumigrams.” 

“Heh, then what are you doing on there?”

“ugh…” Azazel rubbed his eyes. “It’s capital D, Dust, I’m trying to make a fun graphic for my students to get the point that Dust is a signifier of sentience, and the fact that animals don't normally produce Dust means that they don’t have sentience.”

“Hmm interesting point, however I've got a counterpoint, I generate Dust.” 

Pantomime said with all the smugness of someone who thinks they’ve won a debate, arguing that gravity doesn’t exist.

“You're not a cat. And why are you so difficult today! Do you enjoy just messing with me.”

…

“Maybe.”

“Pyrean...”

Someone knocked on the door. “AZAZELLLLLL” Doctor Boreal shouted. “I KEEP GETTING YOUR MAIL.” 

“JUST COME IN!” Azazel shouted back.

Doctor Boreal was an extremely jovial, short, portly, middle aged woman, who, just like Pantomime, enjoyed messing with Azazel and seeing how far they could both slowly dwindle his sanity. This being said, it was all in good fun, Dr. Boreal was Azazel’s best friend, and the only person besides Pantomime that could tell Azazel that his beard looked stupid.

Practically bouncing into the room she animatedly gave her friend his mail. “It got put in my box again, I just don’t understand why this keeps happening! The only similarities between our last names is the first letter!”

Azazel and Boreal both stared at Pantomime, who was licking their paws on the stool.

“I know what you're thinking.” Pantomime began. “And you would be correct.”

“Well, now I know who's responsible.”

“Thank you for bringing these to me Boreal.”

“Your welcome!” Boreal strode towards the door. “By the way, we need to talk about our research trip to the North. The Headmaster wants a final plan and budget by friday.”

“Alright, tea tomorrow then?” Azazel offered.

“Only at the King’s Commons.”

“Deal”

“Great, I love your board Azy, see you tomorrowwwwwww!” 

After she closed the door, Azazel turned to look at Pan, while opening the letter.

“Really? Swapping mail? That’s an old trick, Pan, you're getting sloppy.” For once Pan looked disappointed.

“Yeah, it's been so boring lately, nothing new is happening.” Pan messed with his paws. Azezel said nothing, completely absorbed in his letter.   
“I’ve messed with you in almost every way I can, the only thing I haven't done is drop that cursed piano on you, wait should I drop the piano on you?” 

“Hmm? Sure, Pan, sure.”

“Ooooo, maybe we can go swim in the North Sea.”

“Uh, yea, yea.”

“You're not actually listening to me are you?”

“I’m afraid not Pan.” Azazel said darkly

Pantomime looked up at Azazel, intrigued with his tone. In doing to he caught the label on the letter, from one Mrs. Lloyd. Azazel's face had twisted into a frightfully serious expression Pantomime had only seen two other times in their life.

“You found him?”

“Yes.”

“Who is it?

There was a sharp pause.

“The Elysian Minister of War, General Laurent.”

Lord Azazel Bennett had an intimidating presence, his grey eyes were deep and thoughtful, he was taller than most people, and it helped that his beard gave him even more of a masculine appearance. He was well dressed, in a mixture of modern gentleman's fashion and the researcher: a navy blue turtleneck, a tight grey vest with silver buttons impressed with the Bennett family symbol, an abstraction of the shape of an angel. Underneath a brown leather aviators jacket with a fur lining, greyish brown corduroy pants, and tightly laced black boots. 

Azazel and Pantomime walked through the Orial Maeginoscium, heading past familiar old stone and mortar walls to the Headmagicians office. 

“Do you want me to take a different form?” the soft female voice which Pantomime had switched to, prowling beside Azazel as a snow leopard instead of a common house cat.

“No, your fine as you are Pan.” Azazel replied.

Headmaster Clarke’s office was perpetually in a state of stasis. Papers floated in midair, spilled ink waited to (temporarily) ruin the clothes of whichever poor student that walked into them, while crystals, curios, and other magical objects littered the shelves, some humming at frequencies they shouldn't be at.

Azazel knocked hard once on the door before storming into the office.

“Ah, Lord Azazel, uh, is something wrong?”

Azazel dodged a particular blob of ink that refused to fall.

“Yes Professor Clarke, I am afraid I will have to take this upcoming fall semester off; a family emergency has come up.”

Now poor Headmaster Clarke was in a bit of a bind. Azazel was part of his staff, and the teacher of one of the more popular classes, however, Azazel and the Bennett family donated quite a large sum to the Maeginoscium, and while Clarke was shrewd and intelligent, he was also a coward. The Lord was terrifying when he wanted to be. So the Headmaster made the most rational choice.

Needless to say, Azazel had only two more obligations to wrap up before he left.


	3. Some New and Some Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A noblewoman takes interest in Specter and a Specter runs into an old friend

Rudely awoken by some rather firm two Gs and an F on the viola, Specter sat upright at his desk, a pen still in his hand and his face pressed against a smeared piece of paper. “Phfffff” Specter let out a sigh of frustration as he touched his face, as there was no doubt about it that ink had stained his cheek, matching an annoyingly identical smear on his letter.

“Fuuuhhhh-” he stopped himself, remembering the words of countless adults.

_“Stop that”_

_“it's not proper”_

_“it's a bad habit”_

He tried to wash his stained hand and cheek with a wet, soapy cloth to his cheek, looking at the blot in the mirror of the washroom. The cold water reminded him of the spray of the sea, playing on the beach with him…

“Are you going to use the bathroom all day?” Sebastian asked, interrupting his thoughts from the doorway.

“I’m nearly finished.”

Why was he so distracted today?

Of course Specter hadn't expected that a simple trip to the opera would help him make acquaintances, yet here he was, stepping into box 3 of the Opéra Populaire, the box which belonged to one Madame Celeste deCiel.

“Why, young man, I couldn’t help but notice that you sat all alone up there on the balconies. I haven’t seen you at the opera before, and trust me, I know everyone worth knowing in the city, might I get a name?”

Specter always made it a rule to have others introduce themselves to him, whenever possible. Not out of arrogance and a feeling of superiority, but out of a lively curiosity, he had always found first impressions to be partial accurate. In all his 20 years of being alive he had found that people would tell you everything about them, if you give them the chance, he was intimately aware of sailors and their coarse, colorful language, of gentlemen and their cultured and curated speech. He could instantly tell if a suitor was worth his time ( _sadly my heart belongs to another_ ) on how that treated him and how they introduced themselves. But when these first impressions were not accurate in the slightest, well that person was someone worth knowing well.

That being said, Madame Celeste had a bubbly, inquisitive disposition, and a very dramatic, animated voice that seemed to fly between the ground and higher octaves. She was the kind of person Specter liked, quite affable and easily convinced. 

Specter smiled sweetly and bowed to her. “Riddle. Specter de Riddle”

“Ri-dell” She enunciated every syllable, trilling the R, trailing the tip of her tongue on her upper lip. “I’ve heard that name before..." She looked at him, analyzing his face and clothing. With a gleam in her eye and her lips forming a circle she playfully asked "O! Are you in some way related to the Marquis?”

Specter noted how quick and accurate her assessment was, his initial perception of her was wrong. Underneath those brilliant yellow eyes, Specter noticed a sharpness and acuity underneath the layer of bubbliness and affability.

“Indeed Madame, I am his grandson.”

“Grandson! I didn’t know that the honorable Lord Admiral Jean-Luc Riddle had a son,” She trilled. “Although, I do remember something about a wedding almost a decade back...”

Specter chuckled. “Yes, my parents had a more public ceremony and reception about 9 years ago, however they had been married before I was born, I assure you, they kept it secret for years because well,” He paused. “War.”

“I see, well then M. Riddle why don’t you join me for the rest of the performance? I would love to get to know you better.” She spoke, eyes sparkling.

As they whispered to each other after the intermission, the operetta started again. Specter was equally as charmed by the starry eyed woman as she was with this mysterious new nobleman.

After the performance and after Specter had parted ways with the Madame Celeste ( _It really was a pleasure to make your acquaintance Monsieur deRiddle, I hope we will meet again. Likewise Madame._ ) and while walking a ways down the street, Specter’s attention was caught by someone calling his name.

“Specter! Specter is that really you?”

The wide, attentive, dark hazel eyes of one M. Beaumonte Vaillant were fixed on him from across the street.

“Beau? I can’t believe it!” Specter shouted incredulously across the street as his old friend dodged the few horse drawn carriages to reach him.

“I knew I would run into you someday, just not this quickly, and not without fire and explosions.” Specter scoffed at Beaumonte's remark as they embraced.

“Oh please, if anyone would find me it would be the renowned journalist, M. Vaillant. Tell me how’s journalism going for you?”

“Great! I’ve got a job at the Lutécian Journal Populaire, one of the biggest newspaper companies in the city, I got promoted a few months ago to a permanent position.”

Beaumonte puffed out his chest, with a glint of pride in his hazel eyes.

Specter patted his friend on the back. “Well Beaumonte it seems you’ve made a name for yourself, but please tell me, how are the others? Albert, Luna, I trust they're doing well? It’s been a year since I've last seen you three.”

“My, it has been a year hasn't it? So much has changed in that time, well, Luna is living with her aunts, their lovely people, she dances and plays in the symphonies and operas now. Albert and I rent an apartment on the west side of the city, although half of it is covered in his chemistry sets.” He grumbled. “You don't know the pain of living with your eclectic boyfriend. Although, altogether we are doing great, we’ve run into a few of your classmates too, Robert and Lance are part of the city division of the Operatives program for example. Their roommate too you know." He added with a wink

"But other than that, it's been great! Life goes by quickly in the city. News travels in and out in the blink of an eye..." He said wistfully. 

"You should really come by for tea at some point, I'll tell Luna, we can get together in 4 days?”

“That sounds good Beau! I want to hear everything you all have gotten up to since we graduated.”


End file.
